The Epitome

I am he that was created when the void from an absence
was filled by a desire. A desire that led to a belief
A belief that within me was the ability to develop the strength
Of that black “S” which is now embedded in my flesh
And with that I regress and again say
I am the Epitome.

See, no text book will ever define me,
Yet I am the perfect opposition to the accepted belief
Of what a young black man is supposed to be
Because within me stills burns a fire, cultivated by that same desire
That continues to cause me to choose to aspire
To be the anti-statistic.

Never a man to show me how to be a true man
A strong Mama always giving the best she had
But I heard it said a woman can’t raise a man
And yet, here I stand.

Statistics show that I’m supposed to be,
Incarcerated, in the streets or filling up a cavity somewhere six feet beneath
Yet here I stand again where I’m not supposed to be,
And doing everything anti-statiscally.
So believe me, I will not ask you to pardon or excuse me
For my confidence when I again speak,
That I am the Epitome.

I am the dream of a young boy looking at an empty picture frame,
Determined to become the image of what should be filling that void
I am the product of the resolve of a Granny who became Mama,
Who didn’t want to believe that statistically,
Her boy didn’t have a remote possibility
To be anything other than a product of circumstance,
And the solution to a problem where the likely probability,
Would see him gone before the age of twenty three.

I am hard work and strong willed, dark skin and confidence filled,
I am the provider, protector, producer, the partner,
And everything you would want yours to be
I am a true man, and if you think it too much of a hyperbole,
Then allow me to clarify beyond any shadow of your disbelief,
That I am…..THE Epitome